


Breaking Point

by Impala_Dreamer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Death, Drinking, F/M, Graphic Description, Violence, moc!dean, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:51:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Dreamer/pseuds/Impala_Dreamer
Summary: ~Near the end of his rope, Dean is almost at his breaking point. Desperate to help, Y/N convinces him to let her try and bring him back to the light, but the Mark of Cain makes sure he stays in the dark.~





	Breaking Point

The room was a mess. Empty beer bottles lined the nightstand and floor where they’d fallen and he’d had no care to collect them. A greasy pizza box lay with discarded socks halfway under the creaky bed, and fast food wrappers added to the slum-like ambiance of the pay-per-hour motel.

Dean picked himself up from the floor; his face marked by the hard pile on the dirty carpet. His pulse beat in his head, echoing in the canals of each ear, and once he’d climbed to his feet, he washed down the night with a sip of stale beer. It was warm and bitter but it soothed his dry mouth, and he silently thanked Drunk Dean for leaving him the meager swallow.

The nightstand buzzed with a message alert from his phone, and Dean gave it a quick look. There were dozens of missed calls, twelve messages from Sam, and two from Y/N.

He ignored the calls from Sam. He would just yell, and beg, and panic, Dean knew. But Y/N’s words he could not ignore.

He swiped his thumb across the screen and for a moment, the black mirror displayed a reflection that Dean barely recognised. His eyes were rimmed in deep red and hung with heavy bags. His lips were cracked and bleeding, his skin pale and blotchy. Every bruise he had incurred over the last week burned blue beneath his thinning skin; the cuts on his cheek and eye still glowed bright, inflamed and painful.

The moment was over quickly however, and Y/N’s message replaced his broken face on the screen.

‘I love you. Be careful.’

He almost smiled at that, but the guilt in his chest pulled hard and forced his eyes to roll. Of course she’d say that. She always said that. Before any case that found them apart, any problem that he ran off to solve, that’s what she’d say to him.

A second message hung below the first, and that one made Dean’s blood run cold.

‘Whenever, wherever, I’m there.’

The first message was her words to him, but these were his own, thrust back in his face. Dean had made that promise so many years ago when he’d first gotten to know Y/N, when fate and pain and love had forced them together, entangled forever.

He’d meant it, too. It was a vow made in a whisper that rang loud over the tears and blood; a promise he’d never meant to break.

The last few years had seen him break it many times, but for some reason, Y/N always came back. She never let him break his promise, always there as he should have been for her: to pick him back up after he fell.

Maybe this time… No. He wouldn’t let her see him like this. He was beyond saving this time. There was no more out. Not after Charlie and the Stynes, not after everything. The Mark would not let him stop.

As if the mere thought of the Mark activated something inside of it, Dean’s arm began to burn white hot. He dropped the phone and clutched the Mark with his left hand, begging it to settle. As much as it was a part of him, it was also a separate entity, one that Dean had taken to talking to when his mind would wander or the urge became too great. It never answered in words, only with more pain, but Dean kept pleading with It.

“Five minutes of peace,” he mumbled and reached for the beer again. “That’s all I ask.” He drained the beer and tossed it to the floor. It bounced on the carpet and rolled away to hide behind the door, forgotten already.

After a deep breath, Dean slapped his cheeks and stood, readying himself for another day. He was fine, everything was fine.

“I’m good,” he told the empty motel room. “I’m good.”

When the phone rang, he realized just how not good he truly was. His eyes burned through the device, glaring at Sam’s name as it rang. Dean lifted his foot, letting the heavy boot hover over the phone, wondering what was keeping him from smashing it to pieces. Just as he decided that there was no reason not to destroy the phone, the ringing stopped; Sam had given up.

“Finally.”

Dean turned towards the bathroom and the phone rang again. This time, he jumped and grabbed it from the floor, anger shaking his hands as he answered, ready to tell his brother off.

“What do I have to do to get you to leave me the fuck alone!”

There was a short gasp on the line, and Dean softened. It wasn’t Sam.

“Y/N?”

She cleared her throat and answered. “Hey, Dean.” Her voice was soft and sad, and Dean could picture her, sitting somewhere, staring off at nothing as she toyed with the hem of her shirt anxiously.

He took a breath to quell his anger. “Are you OK?”

“Funny,” she laughed solemnly, “I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“I’m fine,” he lied automatically, letting the words roll off his tongue as they’d done millions of times. It was as easy as taking a breath.

“Really?”

“I said it, so it must be true.” He spun around, dragged a hand through his hair, kicked at the ugly carpet. He wanted to hang up, knew that he should, but he missed her too much.

Y/N sighed at his defiant tone. “OK then.”

They hung in silence for a moment, neither speaking their mind, but both needing to.

Dean broke the hush with a cough. “So…”

Y/N made a noise that broke Dean’s heart. It was the sigh of someone trying not to cry, the breathy struggle to hold back tears and stay strong. He’d heard it before, hell, he’d been the cause of it before, but this time it felt so much worse.

“Dean, I…” Did she close her eyes? Were her fingers tight on the phone? Did she swipe the tears from her cheek?

“I gotta go,” he said suddenly, not wanting visions of her to crush him. Sometimes the best thing to do was leave, to put miles between your angry fist and those you loved. It was for their own good.

Dean pulled the phone from his ear to hang up, but Y/N stopped him.

“Dean Winchester, if you hang upon me I swear to fuck I will castrate you.”

Quickly, he pressed the cell back to his ear.

“Are you there?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes, Ma'am.”

“Good.” Her harsh tone faded as she went on, and Dean sank down onto the bed. “Now, you listen to me. I don’t care what happened, I don’t care what you’ve done… you should not be alone right now. I… where are you? I’ll come to you. Please, Dean. Don't… don’t lock yourself away. Not from me.”

Dean closed his eyes and bit into his lip. He shook his head and tried to find something to say to get her to understand, but there was nothing.

“No,” he said simply.

“No?”

“No.”

“Care to elaborate?”

The bed springs popped as he stood up; his boots scrapped the tan pile. “What do you want me to say, Y/N?”

An intake of breath, the subtle click of tongue against teeth. “Something.”

His knuckles blanched on the phone. “Something?”

“Anything. Talk to me, Dean. Please.”

His mouth filled with the metallic taste of his own blood as he bit into his cheek, trying to hold back.

“Dean…”

“I fucked up, OK? Is that what you want to hear?” He kicked at the pizza box, grit his teeth, swung at nothing. “I walked out of that house with the blood of every man, woman, and child on my hands.”

“Oh, Dean…”

He would not be interrupted, his voice raising in pitch and volume as he paced the room. “I shot that boy in the head. He could have… we could have… I shot him. I didn’t even care. I… Cas…”

“Cas is fine.”

“Sure he is,” he scoffed.

“Please. Where are you?”

“I can’t be around you. I…I don’t want to hurt you,” he said slowly. Each word felt like an anvil on his tongue as he admitted defeat.

Y/N sighed and Dean imagined her face again; the crease between her eyes, the shaking pout, the wet sheen on her cheek. There was a pause as she composed herself, picking out the perfect words to soothe him. Dean braced himself for a speech, but was shocked by what he heard.

“I’m not afraid of you, Dean.”

“Y/N/N…”

“I have never and will never be afraid of you. And…” Y/N huffed out a shuddering breath. “And I need to see you. I need… please, Dean. I’ll meet you anywhere. Name a place. If you don’t, I swear to you, I will spend all my energy tracking you down, you know I can do it. Let me see you.”

 

He didn’t want to go, but there was no fighting Y/N when she got something in her head. Truth was, he needed to see her. She was a constant in the back of his mind, and seeing her might do him some good. For so long, she’d been the balm to his aching soul; maybe she’d be once more.

He had a plan. Dean had given Y/N the address of a bar midway between his motel and home; just a little place off the main road, in a tiny town that no one cared about. He had passed that way once before and fondly remembered the sign hanging from the side of the brick building that boasted: Warm Beer, Lousy Food.

It was to be a quick meeting, in and out, no lengthy conversation. He would show up, let her see that he was alive, and then bolt.

He was planning his goodbye.

But plans are for fools and Dean should have known better.

The second he laid eyes on her, Dean knew he was done for. The quick how-do-ya-do was not to be. Not now. Not with the way the dim light shined up on her hair, or the amazing smile that lit her entire face when she turned towards him. Not when the touch of her hand upon his cheek gave him the only moment’s peace he’d had in weeks.

“Hey, Stranger,” she said with a forced smile, her hand hovering above his scruffy jaw. “It’s been awhile.”

“Only a week,” he shrugged, hiding his smile along with everything else.

Y/N shook her head, her eyes filling with sympathetic tears as she looked him over. “That’s too long away, Dean.” Her fingertips brushed over the cut on his cheekbone and he flinched.

“Really?” he said, injecting a bit of biting sarcasm into his tone. “I was thinking it wasn’t long enough.” His voice was hard and uncaring, the antithesis of his heart, but he had to be harsh. It would make leaving easier on her.

Dean should have known Y/N wouldn’t stand for his bullshit.

“Ya know what?” she asked, pulling her hand from his face to balance on her hip. “I just drove like two hours to see you, so maybe you cut the shit and just give me a hug?” She cocked her head and stuck her tongue between her teeth, darling him to reject her.

Luckily for both, he had no intention of doing so.

She pressed up on her toes as he bent down, and their arms fell into place, wrapped tightly around each other. Y/N’s hands burned against the back of his head; his forehead fit perfectly once more into the crook of her neck. He sighed against her, just seconds from breaking, and tightened his grip around her middle. He squeezed so tight, he was afraid to crush her, but it felt so good to have her back in his arms. It felt right, like the Mark wanted her there too, like It needed her just as much as Dean did.

They broke apart reluctantly as a drunk, silver haired biker nearly knocked into them on his way to the men’s room. Y/N laughed at the man as she pulled back, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“Well,” she smiled, looking up at Dean through wet lashes, “you gonna buy a girl a drink, or what?”

Things seemed to move in slow motion for Dean, as if the world were suddenly filled with molasses and he had to struggle to take each step, each breath, to blink; but he did what he had to.

He pulled himself away from Y/N’s comforting aura long enough to order two beers from the bartender. With his back to her, Dean knocked back three shots while Y/N found a table, and slowly, the tremor in his hand began to ease.

“Sam know where we are?” he asked, handing off a bottle as he sat across from Y/N. The table was sticky and covered in peanut dust, so he sat back and crossed his arms, eyeing Y/N harshly as he sipped his brew.

She shrugged in reply and sat back, mirroring his pose. “Sam who?”

“Come on, Y/N/N.”

She sat forward. “Dean, you told me not to tell him,” she paused and shrugged again, her eyes locked to his, “so I didn’t.”

Dean licked his lip and nodded. “Thanks.” His eyes were on her face as he took a sip, trying to remember what her cheeks felt like beneath his lips. Maybe, if he was lucky enough…

“He’s just trying to help, you know,” she said suddenly, knocking Dean’s daydream off kilter with her scolding tone.

“I told him not to.”

Y/N shook her head. “Yeah, well, much like me he doesn’t usually listen. Especially when it involves you.” She clicked her tongue and looked down at her hands, guilty about some event Dean had missed.

He sat forward, intrigued. “Oh?”

“I’d been advised to stop trying to find you,” she said simply, but with a hint of annoyance pushing her words. “To sit down, stop ranting, and help with research.”

“Oh, really?” Dean smirked, picturing her face as Sam told her what to do.

“Yep.” She popped the P and looked away as the memory flooded her vision.

“And how’d that go?” He pushed.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Dean dropped his hands to the table and dipped his head to catch her eye. “How’d it really go?”

Her smirk was uncontrollable. “I socked him in the jaw and left.”

Dean laughed. Somewhere inside he knew he shouldn’t have, but the image of Y/N reaching up that high to clock Sam in the face was too amusing. “Nice.”

Her smile fell. “Is it?” Another pull on the bottle. “I hit my best friend in the face because my boyfriend went A.W.O.L. and left a trail of bodies behind him.”

Dean’s stomach dropped a thousand miles and he closed his eyes. The Mark burned beneath his sleeve and his teeth took the brunt of the pain as he clenched his jaw, willing the throbbing ache to leave him be. 

“Y/N…”

“Dean…” She reached across the small round table and took his hand, fitting her palm over his bruised knuckles, forcing his focus to return. “I don’t care what happened. I said it already and I meant it. But you need help.”

Dean opened his eyes and found hers, unblinking, filled with pained concern and honest love. He moved to protest, parting his lips and shifting a bit in his seat, but Y/N cut him off.

“Those Frankenstein bastards deserved what they got.” Her lip twitched as emotions threatened to push more tears from her eyes. “They killed Charlie and who knows how many others over the years. Hell, Jacob nearly took my head off.” She cleared her throat and went on. “But that’s not the point. I don’t care about them. I only care about you.”

Dean shook his head, unable to agree. Every fiber of his being was infused with guilt a thousand times worse than ever in his life and he couldn’t let her say such things. “You shouldn’t,” he whispered around the lump in his throat. “You should care about you, too.”

Y/N blinked back the tears and grit her teeth. “Can we skip the therapy session please? You know what I mean. Stop deflecting.”

“Who’s therapizing now?”

He meant it as a jab, but she took it as a tease, and a tight laugh burst from her lips before she could swallow it down.

“God, I miss you. So much.”

“I’m right here.”

“Are you?”

Dean turned his hand so their palms were facing and locked his fingers between hers. “Yeah.”

And he really was. For the first time in a long while, he was there, mind and body in the same place at once. It felt good to breathe freely, to laugh again, smile without faking it. Y/N did that for him. She held his hand across the table forever, until their palms began to sweat like their drinks and sitting closer seemed like a better idea.

 

The table filled with empty bottles quicker than it should have, and soon Y/N was sitting next to him, the familiar scent of her shampoo capturing Dean’s attention. She smelled like apples and ginger and it made his mouth water. Without realizing it, he leaned down and kissed her hair, taking a deep breath as he did.

Y/N looked up with a cocked brow when he sat back. “Did you just…sniff me?”

Dean let out a nervous laugh and shook his head. “What? No.”

“Oh my god. Dean! You sniffed me!”

“I did not!”

Y/N leaned closer and jabbed a finger into his flanneled chest. “You’re lying. I know when you’re lying because you do that lying thing that you do when you lie like that.” Her words were slightly slurred and Dean couldn’t help but fall deeply into her eyes, wondering why he’d ever tried to leave.

“Don’t. Lie. Dean.” She hiccuped his name and Dean collapsed into the moment, letting a smile grace his lips and he leaned in.

“Ok,” he whispered as his tongue pressed between his front teeth. “I sniffed ya.”

“I knew it-”

Her victorious exclamation was cut short when Dean swooped down and kissed her smiling lips. It was quick but hungry, and Y/N gasped as it shut her eyes.

Dean was grinning when he pulled away, their lips ending the kiss with a wet pop. He felt good, really good, as if all he ever needed was that kiss to keep him level.

“Hi,” Y/N giggled as her eyes slowly opened to find him staring in awe. She swayed a little as she leaned even closer, thrown off balance by the beer and the golden flecks in his green eyes. She placed her palm on his chest and bit her lip. “What are you looking at?”

“You.” His eyes narrowed and his lips parted.

Y/N walked two fingers flirtatiously up to his neck, stopping in the hollow of his throat. “Like whatcha see, Stud?”

Dean nodded slowly as his tongue slid across his bottom lip and pulled it back between his teeth. He let it fall back out as he spoke and Y/N visibly shivered, her eyes glazing over with lust.

“I do.”

Her hand curled around the nape of his neck, and Y/N pulled him close as she pressed her breasts against his arm. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “How about we take this party elsewhere?” She finished with a swipe of her tongue over his earlobe and Dean did his best to stifle the growl that tickled his throat.

He answered affirmatively not with words, but with a kiss. His big hand circled her neck, long fingers threading through her hair as he turned her roughly to catch her lips. He nipped at her mouth, dragged his tongue across hers, sucked hard upon her lips, wanting to take her right there on the dingy table. His blood was singing, muscles twitching with animalistic desire; the Mark wanted her too.

When his right hand slid up underneath her shirt, fingertips skirting the band on her bra, Y/N jumped and bit Dean’s lip in shock.

“Ouch,” he teased as she shifted in his arms.

Y/N pushed at his shoulders until he was flat against the chair back and then threw her leg over his. Dean’s eyes grew huge with anticipation and amusement as Y/N crawled into his lap. She straddled his left thigh and pushed her fingers through his hair, tugging his face upwards as she stared down. “Let’s get outta here.”

Dean tried to answer, but Y/N licked into his open mouth, and his words melted into a moan that ran through his chest. Completely lost to her kiss, Dean’s hands slid around her warm body, locking her to him as they breathed as one.

“Please, Dean,” she begged, grinding down over his meaty thigh.

“Kinda hard to take you out of here while you’re doin’ what you’re doin’…” The end of his sentence faded to a growl as she rolled her hips again and pulled on his ear with her teeth. Dean kicked his knee upwards and Y/N whimpered loudly.

“Fuck.”

Dean let her bounce for another few seconds before breaking away from her lips. Panting, he pressed his forehead to hers and begged as the blood left his head and filled his cock, pushing it hard against the tight denim and her leg. “Ya gotta get up, Y/N/N, please, baby.”

Y/N kissed the base of his neck and licked a stripe upwards, sucking his ear into her mouth. “Hurry.”

 

The night was cool and a faint mist covered their alcohol-flushed faces as they stumbled out of the bar. Y/N fit herself under Dean’s arm, snuggling into his warmth as they scurried down the street.

“Dude, where’s your car?” Y/N laughed as Dean paused at the corner, his brain not quite functioning as it should.

“I… it’s close,” he stammered under a laugh, looking back at the bar, trying to get his bearings.

Y/N distracted him even further by sliding a hand firmly down his stomach. “I saw a motel a few blocks up,” she suggested as her fingers traced the hard line in his jeans.

Dean gasped and grabbed the back of her head, dipping between her lips with a starving tongue, unable to wait any longer.

“Fuck it,” he moaned, pulling her hair until her throat was a long line for his lips to attack. “Can’t wait,” he grunted between biting kisses. “Need you. Now.”

“We’re almost there,” she said, breathing heavy, trying to squirm out from under his grasp. “Come on, take me to bed, Winchester.”

“No.”

 

Dean scrubbed his hands in the sink. The water wasn’t hot enough despite the steam that clouded his vision. He turned the cold off completely and let the heat sear his skin, but it still wasn’t hot enough. The blood refused to wash away.

The blood.

Her blood.

His knuckles were scraped raw where they’d met the brick wall, and the open flesh stung under the stream; the cheap yellow bar of soap doing little to disinfect his wounds.

He kept his eyes shut as long as he could, but her face haunted him. He felt her ghost on his skin, tasted her lips on his tongue. He opened his eyes when the darkness became too much, and watched as a strand of her hair swirled down the drain.

 

His fingers tangled in her hair as Dean stopped in the shadows of the alleyway, turning to push her against the brick wall with kiss.

Y/N let him lead her into the darkness, laughing at his enthusiasm. “You’re insane,” she teased as his hips pinned her to the bricks. “I love it.”

Dean growled against her throat, like a wolf about to devour a deer. He licked her pulse, feeling each heartbeat beneath his tongue, urging him on as the pace quickened. “Missed this,” he roared, teeth scraping the skin at the base of her neck, leaving a faint red line across her collarbone.

“Easy buddy,” she said, wincing at the slight pain. She reached up behind him to run her hands through his hair, scratching gently, giving him a cue to follow. “I missed you too, Dean.” She sighed as his lips moved again, never staying anywhere for too long, on a mission to taste every inch that they could.

The Mark burned hot, pushing him on, needing more, needing her. 

“Missed you,” he said again as his giant hand closed tight around her breast.

She flinched at the grab, but tried to relax into it. “I’m here, Dean.”

His head was fuzzy, his skin vibrating. He needed more, and fast. He shifted an inch to the right and shoved his thigh between her legs, swallowing down the gasp that filled her mouth.

“Dude. Calm down,” she said firmly, but he couldn’t hear her.

His blood was on fire and his hands were rough, tearing the thin fabric of her shirt when he couldn’t get enough.

“Dean!”

 

His hands were shaking.

Deep tremors moved his muscles at a frantic yet subtle pace. It was almost imperceptible to the eye, but Dean felt every twitch. He was buzzing from head to toe; the Mark’s rage subsiding slower than he’d like. As it flowed through him, he shook. His fingers flexed, his neck twisted, his lips pursed; he had no control. Not over his own body, not over the Mark. He was lost, and he knew it.

He looked up into his own eyes, reflected back at him in the foggy mirror, rimmed in red, veins pulsing in the whites. He wondered if they’d ever be clear again, wondered if he’d care.

His shoulders jerked forward suddenly, and Dean grit his teeth as a vision filled his mind. Y/N was in the mirror, her face bruised and bloody, sweat damped hair sticking to her neck and cheek.

Dean looked away, but she refused to leave. He went back to his hands, pushing the water over his knuckles. He shuddered as he felt her cheekbone break under his fist again, heard the crunch of bone and the scream that echoed through the alley.

The ghost in the mirror opened her mouth and screamed.

Dean took a breath and put his fist through the glass.

 

“Dean! Stop!”

His knuckles scraped against the brick as Y/N slipped away, leaving him cold and angry. Blood dripped from his hand as he turned to catch her, his long arms no match for her drunk and tired legs. One swoop had his fingers in her hair, yanking her backwards. The thick strands wrapped easily around his fist as he lifted them to his nose, breathing her in again.

“Let me go!” She fought him off, kicking and clawing until she had little left. The darkness in his eyes terrified her; wherever Dean was, he wasn’t with her now. He was a machine, muscle and bone, rage and lust, controlled by something else, something that would not let him be. 

He turned her easily, with his big hands on her arms and a quick tug to the right. When he pushed her backwards, the wall cracked against her head, and Y/N felt the thick wetness leaking down her neck.

“Dean, please…” Her eyes rolled as the world spun, her voice was weak and shaking; she couldn’t get to him.

Hard fingers tore at her clothes, running over her goosepimpled skin. Y/N shuddered in disgust as he pulled at her flesh, pushing aside layers of cotton and denim to take what he needed.

“Please…”

 

The mirror shattered under his fist, but it didn’t ease the pain.

Y/N’s voice rang in his skull, knocking about as if it meant to drive him insane. He clenched his jaw and turned, ripping the hair dryer from it’s spot on the wall. It crashed to the ugly carpet behind him, and Dean dropped his fists to his sides, trying to control the guilt fueled rage that spread like venom through his chest. It inched its way through his body, reaching down his arms and into each finger like the branches of a burning tree.

He walked from the sink and looked around the room, hating everything inside of it; himself included.

The television was heavy, but he lifted it easily, pressing it high above his head and bringing it down swiftly. It slammed to the floor and broke apart, spilling parts like blood on the tan carpet.

image  
Y/N let out a pained cry as she hit the wet ground. The air pushed loudly from her lungs as Dean jumped on her, once again pulling her roughly around to face him. As she turned, she brought her knee up and tried to force it into his gut, but Dean was quick and knocked her back down. His palm cracked against her face and Y/N’s head lolled to the side, her eyelids fluttering closed for a brief moment as stars lit her vision.

“Don’t do this, please.” She coughed at the blood filling her mouth, but Dean didn’t stop. She slapped and shoved hard on his shoulders, using all her strength, but he barely blinked, holding her down as he opened his pants.

Her scream filled the darkness, and Dean put an end to it, locking his hand around her throat and squeezing tightly as he pushed himself between her legs.

 

“I gave it a shot, Sammy.”

He stood in front of the mural, happy skeletons dancing against bright red, a fitting backdrop for his plans. Dean’s voice was as tired as his soul, spent and weary, ready for the end. 

He could hear Sam scrambling to find the right words. “Listen to me,” he rambled, “whatever you’re doing… whatever you’ve done… please…”

Dean laughed sadly, hearing but ignoring Sam’s plea. “I tried. I thought maybe she…” He choked around her name, unable to bring himself to say it. “I gave everything I had to beat this thing down.”

Sam took a sharp breath. “Dean, where’s Y/N? I found her car.”

“I tried, Sammy.”

In the distance, Death cleared his throat and took another bite of taquito.

“Dean, what did you do?” Sam’s worry was clear, his voice rising in panic as Dean refused to answer.

An exhausted smile pulled at Dean’s lips. “Brother, I’m done.”

“No,” Sam argued, desperate and lost. “No, you’re not. Dean.”

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, ending the conversation. “Grab a pen,” he said simply. “It’s time to say goodbye.“


End file.
